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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27394351">Masks are Good, sometimes.</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account'>orphan_account</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dead by Daylight (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Dismemberment, F/M, Gore, Hatchets, I'm not sorry, Orientationplay, Other, This one is weird and gross, Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 00:27:19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,324</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27394351</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Desperation comes in many ways. Sometimes, it comes in some twink.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Anna | The Huntress/Frank Morrison | Legion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Masks are Good, sometimes.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>There was nothing quite like the feeling of a skull giving way to cold, sharp steel. Again, and again, and again, with each swing feeling more drawn out than the last. It was as if the Entity itself were holding her back. She had found herself relishing it more each time. She had to; when the Entity toys with you in such a way that it makes even the blood splattering towards you move in slow motion, you learn to appreciate the smallest red drop splattering against your apron. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Anna wrenches her axe from the skull of the poor survivor who, unfortunately, has been mangled to the point where their face is unrecognizable. Not that Anna cared much. She was not one to remember faces, nor names. She sees shapes, she sees bodies, she sees </span>
  <em>
    <span>fear.</span>
  </em>
  <span> A small hatchet in her right hand is tossed into the air, and she catches it by the end of its handle. She closes her eyes, the luminous red glow burning out from her eyesockets muting some as she pauses to listen closely to the world around her. The sound of whirring rackets her ears some, until--</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The sound of a generator bustling to life fills her right ear. Great. The audible droning of the exit gates powering followed suit. Not great. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Anna, though, she has been doing this longer than anyone else, save for a few- she had more than one trick up her sleeve. Her handaxe twirled again, and she made her way to one of the gates. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It is in the small gaps between merciless killings that Anna ruminates. Some would say she philosophizes, others would say it is the smallest glimmer of a conscience shining through, desperate as ever to tell her the error of her ways. Anna believes neither. She ‘</span>
  <span>razmyshlyayet.’ </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She ponders. She wonders about questions that she will never receive answers to. The current one on her mind? </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Why do I follow rules when this is eternity?”</span>
  </em>
  <span> It will never </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> be eternity, as far as she knows. The closest thing she will receive to a true reprieve from this hellish endurance race of blood and torture is the split second of silence between the end of one arena and the beginning of the next. She has learned not to fear the spire embedding in her chest, and she is no longer afraid of the sobering feeling of her soul leaving her. She accepts it. She is thankful to the Entity for her break, though she only wonders how long her pauses in forever actually are.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Anna blinks. How long had she been staring into nothing? She glances around, and her eyes lock on the spritely looking teenager, looking like a deer in the headlights as the exit gate opens. As soon as there’s a big enough crack between the door and the wall, the pig-tailed girl tries to press herself through it. Not that Anna would let that happen. She- the Huntress- dashes forward, axe in tow, and throws it gap-ward. She grits her teeth, and while the axe flies, she presses forward, hoping to grab the girl in the last moment as the door..</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>..doesn’t fully open?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The axe lands true, embedding itself into the bone of this poor girl’s arm. The human lets out a pained, blood-curdling cry as blood begins to spurt from the wound, and she yanks herself through the gap- save for her foot. Her left foot is stuck between the gate and the wall, and through the pain and her own exhaustion, she can’t muster the courage to bear the pain of yanking it through. Anna grins, and reaches out, her muscled hand wrapping around the other’s clothed ankle. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A harsh pull later, the girl’s skin was being scraped along the scrap exterior of the exit gate as the rest of her body buckled against the force of Anna’s yank. Another cry exits the girl’s throat, this one stifled by bile, as she vomits into the dirt below her. It seems the pain is too much for her. The Entity is almost here. “</span>
  <span>Почти,” she mumbles. One last pull, and--</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>‘Shunk,’ goes the exit gate, as it slams back shut. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Red paint spatters all over Anna’s apron, all at once. There was no slowdown, no moment of savoring a death that she had no intention of causing so soon, no hunger welling in her stomach with every picosecond that progressed; it was instantaneous, harrowing, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>unsatisfying.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Anna’s arm was still extended, like it was mid-shake with someone’s hand, though in truth it was still wrapped around a poor former track star’s ankle. She looks down, and follows it from toe to end. Her shoes, ragged and worn, leading up to her shin, scraped and battered, and stopping around the mid-point of her thigh, where it had so cruelly been crushed by the door initiating its failsafe and slamming shut. The skin around it had torn, and the muscle had been crushed, giving the same effect of squeezing a particularly fleshy sponge with a hydraulic press. She stared, confused, not wholly there for a moment, until she heard a </span>
  <em>
    <span>scream.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Oh. That’s nice. She’s still here. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>None of this was her plan, but she would allow herself this simple pleasure of a good, hard </span>
  <em>
    <span>pull.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As if re-enacting the scene from a few moments ago, Anna takes a good stance, and pulled back with fervor. Perfectly on cue, the girl behind the scrap-metal wall let out another scream, only weaker. She was fading already. A shame, Anna thought, as she pulled again, but she understands. This time, next to another scream, was the sound of something popping out of its socket. Her kneecap had begun to fall out of place, and the skin around the compression point had begun to tear. The third and final pull would be more than enough. Closing her eyes and focusing on the girl behind the wall, her smile under her rabbit’s mask curls upward, and she yanks back once more.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The human leg comes off in layers; that’s what Anna would say she learned from this. First, the skin tears, naturally. This girl’s sun-kissed skin became spackled with red as it tore, giving way to bloody sinew. The muscle underneath then began to snap under the brute-force tension Anna was forcing. It wasn’t like a guitar string snapping like Anna had always hoped- it was more akin to ripping a shirt, with each tendon ripping like stitching. Finally, the innermost layer, the knee pops off at the closest joint. This, of course, was the hardest part, forcing Anna to press her feet to the door, pressing hard against it and putting that weight into popping it off, until, all at once, the joint keeping the other’s leg from totally falling apart unlinked. With that gone, the few holdout tendons finally snapped, and Anna swung the leg back like a baseball hitter that had just struck out. It skidded into the dirt, the gushing of blood spilling down and seeping into the ember dirt. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Anna leaned against the door, pressing her ear to the metal, expecting </span>
  <em>
    <span>something,</span>
  </em>
  <span> but nothing came. It was deathly silent behind the wall. “Трагический,” she said mournfully, falling rear-first into the dirt below her. She counted on her fingers for a moment. One, two.. Two and a half? Does a leg count? Regardless, it was a bit of a bust. She sighed, and leaned against her knee. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>What </span>
  <em>
    <span>happened?</span>
  </em>
  <span> The exit gate had never failed before- she had always assumed it functioned independently of the generators, but it seems they function independently of the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Entity.</span>
  </em>
  <span> What happened to the generators that powered the gates that they would shut so quickly? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey, I-” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Huntress whipped around, throwing her weight to her side again and again until she was on her feet, axe poised. She threw herself forward, her hard boots stomping into the dirt. She rounded the corner of the close by ruin, and-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Frank Morrison, hands up in surrender, </span>
  <em>
    <span>trembling.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Oh. Anna dropped her axe, and instead opted to reach her left hand out, grabbing the boy by his collar and hoisting him up. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Hi,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Anna,” he said sheepishly, pressing his index fingers together in lieu of an actual expression on his face, which was covered up by, apart from a carved in face, a flat white porcelain mask. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Anna, wordlessly, pointed towards the exit gate.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, that? Yeah, um. Yes. That was me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Anna’s right fist curled into a fist.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No no no no! Trust me, the last thing I’d want to do is step to another killer’s spree, but you’re so hard to </span>
  <em>
    <span>track down</span>
  </em>
  <span> otherwise, I think I had to.. intervene?” When Anna’s fist refused to unclench, he continued, his word vomit now excessive. “Look, I will admit, this was a huge dick move. I hate not getting everyone, and I get that, but.. It’s important. Can you please put me down for a second?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Anna ruminated, looking away from Frank for a second in contemplation. After what, to Frank, felt like an eternity of judgement, Anna dropped him into the dirt. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh thank god,” Frank mumbled, “I thought you were gonna kill me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Anna’s hand reached down to the dirt, and lifted her still-bloodied hatchet with one hand. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <span>Быстро,” she said decisively. Now, the Entity doesn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>care</span>
  </em>
  <span> for the trifles of mortal language. It sees beyond that, it transfers </span>
  <em>
    <span>intent</span>
  </em>
  <span> into the other’s mind as they speak. In the future, this will be referred to as ‘truespeak.’ (However, for ease of reading, the rest of their dialogue will be written in English.)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Speak!” She repeated, and Frank jumped.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Right! Right, of course,” Frank chittered, gripping the strings of his hoodie tightly, “Look, I’m.. not going to beat around the bush. You’re a lady who likes directness, I’m assuming. I.. ah..”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Anna gave him a sour look.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t rush me! It’s hard when you’re trying to talk to someone who just murdered two, </span>
  <em>
    <span>probably</span>
  </em>
  <span> three people.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Anna’s frown turned into a smirk. Yeah, she probably </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> murder that girl via leg-removal. She motioned to continue.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I.. Okay.” Frank took a breath. “Anna, I think you’re really hot on the off occasion I see you. Can we bang?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Anna’s expression fell back to her nonplussed, sour frown. She paused for a moment, not ruminating on whether or not she’d say yes, but just how she’d say no. Most girls would say something like ‘I don’t feel the same’ or ‘Get lost, fucker,’ but.. Anna was not most girls. She was a Sibereian Bear who got off on killing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m a lesbian. Fuck off.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Frank paused. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“...I’ll wear Julie’s mask.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Anna took a step back, color rushing to her cheeks. She had been so certain that her staring had been done from the relative safety of the deeper woods; had her crush been so easily deciphered? She went quiet, and her hands gripped the wooden stalk of her hatchet so hard that she began to hear the wood splinter and crack. She breathed deep, and exhaled shakily.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Look,” Frank continued, “You don’t have to give me an answer now. All I’m asking is for you to consider it. I borrow her mask for a time, you get to fantasize all you like about getting down with my friend, and we both walk away happy. For now, though,” Frank looked down at his feet, where the ground had begun to erupt, tendrils of black spilling out of the wounds in the earth, “Strike or Spike?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Anna’s brow furrowed behind her mask. ‘Strike or Spike’ was the term used by the English speaking killers- at least, the ones that got along. There’s a point in every Killer’s career when they end up trapped in the Arena. If they’re lucky enough to get locked in with another killer, they will give the other an offer; They could hang around and let themselves get skewered- a process most consider extremely painful, as far as ‘the forceful removal of the human soul’ goes- or one killer could off the other, a much faster process. A term simply shortened to ‘Strike or Spike.’</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Anna grunted. “Spike,” she muttered, and pointed the end of her axe out at Frank. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Me? Oh, uh.. Yeah, why not? Strike me, babe. It’s the least I can do t-” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Frank was cut off by the sound of an axe embedding in the top of his skull. The leather strap holding the mask to his face snapped, and rolled away, and Frank collapsed, with extra aid of the sharp end of Anna’s axe. Anna paused, for a moment, waiting for a sign of life. There was a twitch, and Anna was quick to stop it, raising her axe and slamming it down again, and again, and again, until his head was two hemispheres gushing with red. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>For added emphasis, Anna raised her boot and drove it down onto the point where the hemispheres met, the heel of her boot causing a </span>
  <em>
    <span>crack</span>
  </em>
  <span> to resound through the previously silent air. She stared, for a moment, at the brutalized corpse of her comrade. Most would consider this sad; that they’d been forced into a world where this is the favorable outcome. But Anna was not the type to mourn. She snorted, and grabbed one half of Frank’s head. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The ground had become hot. Frank’s face had begun to sear. It was almost time.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Huntress felt her lips pass against Legion’s as she leaned in to rip into the freshly seared skin of his half-face’s cheek. She leaned in, and just as the tension snapped, just as her teeth sunk in-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Anna glanced down towards the sudden feeling of warmth.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Мразь,” she muttered, as the spike unfurled, and dragged her back to the bowels of the Entity.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Darkness came fast, and Anna was willing to accept this. She only wondered how long it would be until she woke. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>As with all my fics, this was extremely stream of consciousness, and the first draft. However. I actually have a plan for this one.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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